Breakdown
by Unstable Firestarter
Summary: Breakdown Series 2. Four years after pushing him away, Braig returns to Dyme's life. Things haven't been going well for the musician and this time roles are reversed as more mistakes are made. Braig/Dyme


**A/N:** Second fic in the Breakdown series, following Time Is Running Out. A bit more mature in some ways than the first, but equally as full of angst. Not much else to say. Oh, and thanks for the review on the first one~

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**Breakdown**

The blonde heaved a bored sigh as he flopped down on the plush, black velvet couch, draping a leg over one end, while stretching his other to the floor. Bored…bored…bored…he was bored. He threw his arms up over his head, hands curling around the other arm of the couch, fingers tapping out a random beat. He wasn't quite sure why he'd agreed to this, maybe because it was a slight break from the norm that he'd gotten so used to, or maybe because he was actually a bit curious. A meeting had been set up for tonight, between one of his agents and a fan, who'd apparently wanted to meet the famous rockstar.

Whoever this chick was-he just naturally assumed it was a woman, since he had more female fans than male-must either be good with words, or someone fairly important, to be able to pull this kind of set up. It was very rare that the blonde met personally, one on one, with any of his fans, unless they were someone famous, like another singer or something along those lines. Sighing again and blowing some of his bangs back from his teal eyes, he brought one arm down to be able to see his watch; fifteen after eight. They were fifteen minutes late, and he was bored.

Throwing his arm back up over the side of the couch again, he tapped his foot against the floor, thick soled black boot making a heavy_ thump_ each time. He'd really rather be home right now, instead of in this hotel-not that the place wasn't nice, because it was definitely one of the most elegant, expensive hotels in the whole City, but he'd still rather be home. At least he got to dress fairly casually for this; the previously mentioned knee high boots, dark blue skinny jeans that fit him snugly, and a tight black turtle-neck shirt. He had a reason for keeping his neck covered for now, along with his arms which were never bare.

At last, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock-because this, being a ritzy hotel, still used actual keys instead of cards, it added to the atmosphere-and he swung his gaze to the door, able to see it easily since the couch was directly across from it. He watched curiously as the door opened, and his guest of honor stepped through. At first, he thought he'd been right in assuming it was a woman, seeing the fairly long chestnut brown hair and slight frame. Even when he saw the face, he still kept this assumption, since they were beautiful, despite having only one eye, the remaining one a warm crimson-brown color.

He swung both feet down to the floor to sit up, since it would be rude to just continue lounging there like that, and as his guest closed the door behind them, he realized quite suddenly that it was a _guy_. His heart skipped a few beats at this realization, and he swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in his throat, trying to fight down panic that was rising for some reason. Despite all of this, he forced himself to remain calm and be polite-he had an image to uphold after all, and he was never one to treat his fans harshly.

"Did you have trouble finding the hotel?" he asked good-naturedly, subtly saying that he'd been kept waiting.

The guy just gazed at him for a long moment, stepping forward slowly until just the black Chinese coffee table separated the two of them, as if he were taking in every detail of the other. The blonde looked much older than he remembered; his face had thinned out, the roundness was gone from his cheeks. He looked…more mature, more weathered by time, and there was a depth to his eyes that hadn't been there before either. The lively spark no longer resided within them; instead it had been replaced by something darker and slightly hazy. He was even thinner than before too, if that was at all possible, but he was clearly in good shape, as the tight clothes he wore hugged every new layer of muscle that hadn't been there before.

All in all, he was painfully handsome, though his eyes were haunting, taking away from the affect just slightly.

"A bit," the brunette replied quietly, finally answering the rockstar's question, "I'm…sorry I kept you waiting."

"It's no trouble at all," the blonde said with a friendly smile, crossing his legs and leaning back comfortably against the couch cushions, "I'm just glad you made it, it's not often I meet with someone personally, simply one on one." He was fighting every instinct to bolt from this room, though he didn't know why, there was just…something about the man's voice that made his heart skip again, painfully. Somehow, he managed to maintain his cool appearance.

"Of course. As a rockstar, I'm sure you have to worry about all kinds of psychos out to get you," the guy said.

The rockstar in question laughed a bit, "To tell you the truth, I don't worry so much about my safety, I leave that up to my security guys. They do their job well, so I'm not overly concerned with things like that."

Well…at least _that_ hadn't changed a bit. "…Sylver Dyme?"

Something about the way he said it made that lump rise in the blonde's throat again, though he forced himself to continue sitting there calmly, his hands resting against the cushions. "Just call me Dyme," he said. "I'm sorry," he added, trying to rein his composure together again before it showed through his façade, "I don't know your name-my agent never mentioned it to me."

"It's Braig," the brunette replied without hesitation, "You recognize me, don't you?"

He felt like his heart had stopped at that, and he pressed his hands against the cushions to try and stop them from shaking. No, no, this wasn't happening. All those years he'd spent blotting this man from his memory, and now with a few simple words, it was all threatening to come back. He couldn't deal with that pain again; he had to get out of here as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry," he said politely, still managing to up-hold his act, "But I've never met you before."

"You couldn't have forgotten me, you don't seem like the type to…completely forget someone you cared about," Braig said, never once looking away from the blonde's eyes.

He hadn't moved, but he felt too close for comfort to Dyme, though he was struggling not to let this show. Fear was seizing him, wrapping its icy claws around his chest and making it hard for him to breathe, but he swallowed hard and forced himself to speak, "I'm afraid you're mistaken; I've never seen you before." There was a slight tremor in his voice, and he prayed in vain that it hadn't been noticed.

The brunette's brows furrowed, as if he realized something. "Are you afraid to remember? I wouldn't blame you, with what happened."

Dyme groaned, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to rest his head in his hands, fingers tangling through his gelled locks. His façade was slipping, and there was nothing he could do at this point to prevent it. He was overwhelmed with fear and panic, a primal reaction to expecting more pain after he'd already been broken so long ago, and he fought to turn that to rage, thinking of all the reasons he had to be angry, so that he'd be able to speak.

"_Four years…_" he managed to mutter, closing his eyes tightly, "Four. Fucking. Years. Braig," he said every word slowly and deliberately through gritted teeth, hoping to make it clear just how displeased he was with this, "What the hell are you doing here? If you've come to fuck up my life some more, just get out, because I can do that fine on my own."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by a few hushed footsteps on the plush Oriental rug, "I came to apologize, actually."

"_Apologize?_" Dyme repeated incredulously, raising his head at once to gaze at the other with widened eyes, "You fucking _broke_ me, I tried to _kill_ myself because of you!"

Braig winced at the blonde's outburst, but Dyme paid no attention to the regret in his eye.

"You don't give a damn about me, and now, after all this time, you waltz back into my life to _apologize?_" the rockstar said venomously, rising from where he sat, pacing around to stand at the back of the couch, putting it between him and Braig.

"I lied," the brunette confessed, "That day I pushed you away, I lied. I _do_ care about you."

Dyme felt his heart stutter again, and he tightly gripped the back of the couch as he continued to stare at the older man in disbelief. "Bullshit," he retorted, "You've hurt me so fucking much, and I'm supposed to believe it's because you _care_ about me?"

"It's the truth," Braig said, taking a few steps towards him, "I was trying to keep you safe, I didn't know how else to make you leave."

"_Bullshit!_" the blonde repeated, taking an equal amount of steps around the side of the couch, "Why didn't you just tell me the fucking _truth_ then?"

"_I tried_," the older shot back, a slip in his composure, "You were so stubborn, you weren't listening."

Dyme blinked a few moments, floundering like a fish out of water with his mouth open while he tried to think of something to say to that. He remembered-quite clearly now, since it always seemed to be the worst days that stuck in one's mind the best-that Braig _had_ mentioned something about it being for his own good…and the blonde hadn't listened, said he didn't care about his own safety.

"You should have tried harder, then," he said at last, desperate to lay the blame for this on anyone but himself.

"Dammit, Dyme," Braig cursed, his composure slipping altogether as he again advanced towards the blonde, "I did the only thing I could think of. I didn't want to see you get hurt…or worse."

The rockstar backed up around to the front of the couch now, trying not to trip over his own two feet in the process-he was scared to let the other get too close. "Why did you wait so long?" he demanded, "Four fucking years. I've lived in so much pain and heartache, for _four years_."

"Because I couldn't see you any sooner," Braig said with a slight shake of his head, "Things have been so difficult and complicated. I just couldn't."

"You couldn't drop me a line, write a letter, anything?" Dyme shot back, "Difficult for _you_? Do you have _any fucking idea_ how hard _my_ life has been since you?"

"Would you just shut your mouth and listen for a minute, you selfish bastard, not _everything_ is about YOU," the brunette snapped, beginning to lose his patience as he strode towards the startled rockstar.

Dyme's eyes were wide in surprise-he hadn't expected that outburst, and it momentarily evaporated his anger. "I…you…I mean," he stammered, starting to back up again.

Catching him even more off guard, Braig grabbed the blonde by the shoulders, pulling him down a bit-since Dyme's boots added about roughly two inches to his height, and he was already taller than the brunette without them-and laid a kiss against his lips. Dyme's eyes widened more, and he lost his balance, throwing one arm out behind him to try and catch himself, while his other hand went to Braig's back-perhaps in an effort to steady them.

Both attempts were futile, and they landed awkwardly on the couch, Braig falling against the blonde's chest, somehow managing to hold the kiss. Dyme groaned softly, his heart leaping into his throat. Right now he wasn't sure at all what emotion was coursing through him-he was so confused, and surprised still, and all he could really think was that this was what he'd dreamed about for months.

At this very moment, at least, Dyme wasn't fighting this; he wrapped his arms around Braig, pulling him closer as the brunette tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss. While the blonde still at least had a heel resting against the floor, his other leg bent up on the couch, Braig was laying fully against him, no feet anywhere near the floor-ah, Dyme had forgotten just how short the brunette was.

Their closeness was scrambling the rockstar's thoughts, and he couldn't even figure out if he should be doing this or not. He could barely _breathe_, let alone _think_, as Braig kissed him again, tracing his tongue along the blonde's lips. Instinctively, Dyme opened his mouth, allowing the older to slide his tongue inside, and moaned softly. However, the next moment he tensed a bit as Braig stroked his hands along the rockstar's sides, taking a few seconds before relaxing again-there was the memory of that day, with his ribs, that hurt.

That's right…that day…. Abruptly remembering it once more, Dyme felt a definite ache form in his chest, and he moved his hands to the brunette's shoulders, pushing him away. "I-I can't," he stammered, taking a shaky deep breath and trying to untangle himself from Braig enough to sit up, "I can't do this. I can't be hurt again."

"Dyme," Braig said, gently but firmly, laying a hand against the blonde's cheek, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm sorry for what happened before."

The rockstar blinked at him for a moment, and then looked away, "I hate you," he whispered, but the words were pained, lacking any anger.

There was a moment of silence, neither of them moved, neither of them spoke, and then…

"Dyme…I love you."

He froze completely still, his heart stuttering and stopping before beating wildly. No…no, that wasn't true, it couldn't be true. Trying to remember how to breathe, he slowly looked over at Braig. "Bullshit…" he whispered disbelievingly.

"It's true; I love you," the brunette repeated.

"B-Bullshit," Dyme said again, shaking his head a bit, his eyes wide, "I…don't believe you. I don't trust you."

"Then let me prove it to you," Braig said quietly, leaning closer to the blonde.

"I-I don't, I mean, uhm, I'm not-" the rockstar stammered, leaning away until he toppled over on the couch again.

The older leaned over him, placing his hands on either side of Dyme's head, and the blonde could only blink up at him, torn between pushing him away and bolting from the room, and letting the inevitable happen. Either way, his body refused to move, and he watched breathlessly as Braig drew closer, kissing the singer again. That one simple action stole what remained of Dyme's resistance, and he groaned softly, returning the kiss desperately. He wrapped his arms around Braig's shoulders, pulling him closer as the brunette moved to sit astride his hips.

The kiss they shared deepened as the older's hands roamed across Dyme's toned stomach, catching lightly under the hem of his shirt. The blonde whimpered quietly, a shiver running through his body at Braig's touch, and he tangled his fingers lightly in the brunette's hair. Braig broke the kiss to trace his lips along the curve of the blonde's jaw, working his way to Dyme's ear since his neck was hidden under the collar of his shirt-a shirt that probably wasn't going to be in place much longer anyway. Dyme closed his eyes as the brunette kissed and gently bit his ear, the whole time slowly pushing his shirt up, getting closer to freeing him from the material.

He shifted his arms to help pull it off over his head, keeping his eyes shut-there was a reason why he'd worn a turtle-neck here this evening, and he didn't want to see Braig's reaction to _why_. The reason was immediately clear to the brunette; fresh scars were scattered across Dyme's chest, a few nasty looking bruises resided on his neck, and the track marks on his arms looked worse than ever. Braig could only assume that the blonde had been getting into a whole mess of fights-it certainly would explain why he was also so toned.

Not a word was said about any of these, and the brunette leaned close once more to place gentle kisses over the marks on Dyme's neck, causing the rockstar's heart to leap into his throat again. He remembered very well where each bruise was, and to feel such a soft kiss to them brought tears to his eyes, simply from how sweet the action was. He was falling so deeply again already, he would break into so many small pieces if Braig were to hurt him for a second time, and he didn't think he'd survive this one. He'd already survived the first occasion by accident, a stroke of luck that someone had found him, but if he were to be broken a second time, he'd make sure there was no room for accidents.

Over time, the rest of their clothes were shed, though they reached a hang up when Braig tried to get Dyme's boots off. He quickly lost his patience with the things, trying to figure out what was decoration and what wasn't, cursing the rockstar's love of intricate fashion the whole time. The blonde couldn't help but giggle a bit as he watched the other, knowing that the brunette couldn't just forget about the platform boots since if they stayed, Dyme's pants stayed, and that obviously wasn't going to work. After a few more vain attempts, and curses and glares directed to the singer, Dyme finally got the boots off himself, making the action so simple since he knew exactly how they worked.

Things went much more smoothly after that, the blonde even managed to direct them into the bedroom before the last articles of clothing were tossed aside without concern, and the rockstar was pushed back against the crimson satin sheets. They moved as one, in perfect sync with each other as if they'd been made for the other, as if they hadn't spent four long years apart. At this moment, Dyme's world narrowed down to include only one person, the brunette who was making him feel more whole right now than he ever remembered feeling in his entire life. Braig was the only thing the rockstar could focus on, the taste of his kiss, the motions of his hands, the rocking of his hips-exactly like he'd dreamed those months ago. No…not exactly-_better_ than he'd dreamed. Every sensation seared into his skin, into his mind, stripping away all worries and coherent thoughts, allowing him to be blissfully unhindered.

When things were finished, and he struggled to keep his eyes open despite feeling like there were lead weights tied to his eyelids, those worries and fears would soon begin to force their way back in, but they didn't occur to him just yet; they were kept at bay by the brunette who lay next to him as Dyme was cradled against his chest, listening to the sound of the older's heart beat.

"I love you, Dyme," he thought he heard Braig murmur as a soft kiss was placed to his forehead, and the blonde struggled to say something in return, but was interrupted by a yawn.

Teal eyes closed for just a second-at least, it felt like just a second to him-and when they opened again, he was alone in the bed. It took a few seconds for that realization to sink in, but when it did, the surprise of it jerked him fully awake. His gaze swept quickly around the room as he pushed himself up on his elbows, trying not to slip on the smooth sheets. Everything was quiet, and he could only see his own jeans strewn across the floor, though he was certain that Braig's had ended up here too. Panic began to seize him, and he slid to one side of the bed, pulling the sheets with him as he stood to wrap them around his waist.

He wasn't gone, was he? The brunette hadn't abandoned him, leaving him to go through another heartache?

The rockstar walked silently from the bedroom, only the faint rustling of the sheets giving away his motions, and he stopped as soon as he reached what would be considered the living room, where the rest of his clothes had been left. The French doors leading out to the balcony stood open, and there, leaning against the railing, was Braig. He was fully dressed, his back to the doors as he gazed out over the darkened city, streaks of lightning illuminating the sky every now and then, and so Dyme didn't move, not wanting to give his presence away. Holding the sheets in place with one hand, the blonde ran his other back through his now quite messy hair, contemplating things.

A different kind of panic began to slowly creep up on him now, as remembered everything he'd been through over the past four years. He was…afraid, still. The kind of primal fear that accompanied a deep emotional wound. He felt afraid to think of keeping Braig by his side, and yet he was afraid of pushing him away again too. The blonde knew how his life would be if he chose the second option; he'd just…continue on, push this day from his thoughts, pretend it never happened, and keep his career going, keep getting into fights, keep up with drugs.

See, he knew how things would be that way, so it didn't frighten him as much. What he didn't know…was what would happen to him, to everything, if he accepted Braig back into his life. What would change, what would stay the same, how would he feel? It was the unknown that scared him the most, that made him so torn. Being around the brunette made him panic, made his heart ache, and yet at the same time, he felt more whole.

With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he cleared his throat to announce himself, moving a few steps closer to the French doors. "It'll be morning soon," he said, his voice subdued, "You should probably get going."

For once, it was Braig who looked confused as he turned to face the blonde. "You want me to leave?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

The rockstar nodded, "I want you to stay out of my life. I made a mistake earlier, with letting you get so close, but I want you to go now. I don't need you anymore," the lies slid easily from his lips, his façade firmly in place once more.

The one who was afraid of being hurt again was going to do the hurting first, in a misguided effort to protect himself.

"Dyme," the brunette started, taking a few steps forward.

"I meant it when I said I hate you," the singer cut him off, "You never even bothered to ask if I still care about you after all these years. You just waltzed in and _assumed_-that makes _who_ selfish now?" His tone was still passive, he couldn't yet muster the energy to make the words sound harsh-it was taking all his strength just to keep eye contact while he lied right now. "Get the fuck out."

Braig stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to figure out if the blonde was really serious or not, and Dyme gave no sign that saying those words hurt. "Is that the way you really feel?" he said at last.

"Yes," Dyme replied without hesitation, "I wish you'd never fucking showed up here."

The brunette's expression darkened, swiftly hiding his own pain, and he moved to walk past the other, "You make me wish I'd never come here either."

"Good, get out then. I hope I never fucking see you again," the rockstar retorted, turning to keep the older man in sight.

"Oh, you won't," Braig threw back over his shoulder, pausing when he reached the door, "You won't," he repeated, "You don't have to worry; I'll never step foot in your _perfect_ little life ever again. Goodbye, Dyme."

"_Good_," Dyme said again even as the brunette was heading out the door, "I fucking hate you."

As soon as the door slammed shut, and he was alone in the hotel room, his façade slipped, and he struggled to breathe. He backed up until he hit the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor-_what had he done?_ Now that Braig was gone, the blonde felt…broken, as broken as when the brunette had pushed him away all those years ago. Drawing his legs up, he folded his arms on top of his knees, and dropped his head against them as tears began to well up. He didn't feel any better with what he'd done, he felt worse, actually.

Every word he'd just thrown at Braig had been a lie, because he was scared. In his fear, he had pushed away the one person in all the worlds that he loved-and that brought with it a shocking realization. This day, he had reversed their roles, he had pushed Braig away because he felt it was for the best, but unlike with what the older had done, _this wasn't for the best._

"Fucking…idiot," he cursed himself as he began to cry, curling one arm around his head, fingers tangling tightly in his hair.

He already regretted what he'd done so much, but there was no way to fix it, there was nothing that he could do to-wait…what the _fuck_ was he thinking? _No way to fix this._ All he had to do was go after Braig, apologize and tell him the truth. Raising his head, the rockstar scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand, blinking a few times. His heart was racing as he forced himself to his feet, scrambling towards the bedroom and trying not to trip over the sheets in the process-he felt something that he hadn't in so many years; _hope_.

The blonde dressed as quickly as he could, pulling on his jeans and turtle-neck, and trying not to kill himself in his haste to yank his boots on. As soon as he was decent, he wrenched open the door, stumbling out into the hall, and took off towards the elevators. He didn't know how long he'd been curled up on the floor, if it'd been just the few seconds it felt like or longer, and his perception of time had been warped from all the emotional outbursts, and so he didn't know how far ahead of him the brunette had gotten.

Thunder was clearly heard as the elevator doors opened finally in the first floor lobby, elegantly dressed people flitting about here and there, still others hurrying inside through the glass front doors as the sky opened up and it began to rain. He quickly exited the elevator, his gaze searching desperately though the people occupying the lobby-not one of them was a slight brunette, and he cursed under his breath, striding determinedly for the front doors. The downpour outside didn't bother him-he didn't even notice it at first, he was so focused on finding Braig.

There were dozens of cabs pulling up to and leaving the hotel, all down the street, and the blonde's heart sank when he realized that the one he was looking for could be in any of those cars. Maybe he wasn't though; he'd left before it started to rain, so maybe he was still walking. Dyme hurried down the sidewalk, not even sure if he was heading in the right direction, but having no other choice since he didn't have a way to know. He was approaching a busy crosswalk, and he looked around continuously, pausing in the middle to watch the people pushing their way by all around him.

Every face was unfamiliar, none of them were the brunette he was looking for, and he cursed again as the crowd began to thin out, running a hand back through his already rain soaked hair. Sudden blinding headlights and the blare of a truck horn made him look over swiftly, and his eyes widened when he saw the vehicle barreling towards him. The driver seemed intent on continuing their way whether it meant hitting him or not, but he could only blink, the proper reaction taking a little too long to travel to and from his brain.

At that precise moment though, he was abruptly tackled from the side, the force of the hit knocking him out of the way. He lost his footing on the rain slicked pavement and went down, rolling through a particularly deep puddle with whoever had saved him before coming to a stop at the sidewalk again. Now utterly drenched and dazed, he could only blink as his savior shifted, actually sitting on top of him, and shook him a bit.

"You fuckin' _moron_," a familiar voice exclaimed angrily, "Was it your plan to commit suicide right in front of me, or did you think he was going to stop just because you're a famous rockstar?"

Those words cleared the haze from the blonde's mind, and he blinked up through the rain, seeing that it was Braig who had saved him. "Braig!" he cried happily, pulling the brunette down for a quick kiss that left him utterly confused, "You have absolutely no idea how glad I am that I found you!"

Dyme easily climbed to his feet, pulling Braig up with him, and wrapped his arms around the brunette, not caring-or noticing-that people were staring at them by now. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his tears starting to fall again, "I'm so sorry."

"Dyme?" he questioned after a moment, completely bewildered with this rapid change of attitude from the blonde, trying to pull the singer over under the cover of a store awning so that they weren't standing out in the rain.

The rockstar followed him, waiting to be under cover before speaking again, "Please forgive me," he pleaded, holding both of the brunette's hands tightly within his own as if he were afraid Braig was just going to leave, "I didn't mean what I said. I don't hate you…_I love you._ I've never _stopped_ loving you, not once during these four years. I was just so scared…afraid to be hurt again. I thought pushing you away would make things better, but I was wrong." He stopped only briefly in his confessions for a breath of air, and then he swiftly continued before he could lose his nerve. "You're the only one I've ever really wanted, no matter how many girlfriends I've had, it's just never worked out. Please…. Please…I _do_ need you in my life."

Braig gazed at him for a long moment, processing everything the blonde had just said, but Dyme refused to meet his eyes, instead looking submissively down to the ground. He reminded the brunette of a small puppy who was expecting to be scolded for something it had done wrong.

"Dyme…" he started quietly, fighting to free a hand-and laying it against the singer's cheek when he succeeded, "You should've just said so. I told you-I'm _not_ goin' to hurt you."

The rockstar closed his eyes for a moment, nuzzling into Braig's touch, "…Really?" he whispered.

"Of course, blondie," Braig said with a slight roll of his eye.

Dyme looked back to him, studying his expression. He was still a little nervous, but…_he felt hopeful._ He felt like things could work out, that everything would be okay. It was hard to believe that things could really be this simple, that…Braig was so understanding and forgiving. It made the blonde feel even worse when he thought of how he'd treated the brunette.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again.

"It's alright," the brunette said, "It's my fault for starting all of this four years ago, treating you the way I did."

The blonde was quiet for a moment, looking down, and then back to Braig again before smiling faintly, "I love you."

"I love you too, kid," Braig said, returning the smile and leaning up to kiss him.

Dyme gave a soft whine as he drew back from the kiss, "I'm _not_ a kid anymore," he protested, "I'll be twenty-four in a few months. And you're like, what, forty by now?"

The brunette rolled his eye again, "Thirty-five, kid."

"That's ooooold," the rockstar said playfully with a small laugh. How quickly his mood had lightened, the weight starting to lift from his shoulders.

"It is not," Braig said, crossing his arms.

"Is too," Dyme retorted, ever mature.

"You're still a kid," the older said.

"And you're still an old man," the blonde countered with a grin.

Braig just sighed, not bothering to respond this time, and Dyme took the moment of quiet to glance around them. There was a steadily increasing crowd growing around them, and the blonde wondered how many of them were there just because they saw the near fatal accident, and how many recognized him-this _was_ his home world after all.

"Ah, how about we go back to my loft?" he suggested, looking back to the brunette.

"That sounds good to me. Better than standing here in the rain…with all these people staring at us. It's just mildly awkward," Braig agreed, 'mildly' being a massive understatement.

"Alright," Dyme said, flashing a bright grin that the other hadn't been lucky enough to see for years, "Come on."

The blonde took him by the hand, pulling him towards the curb as he kept an eye on the traffic, waiting for a cab to draw near before lifting an arm into the air, "Taxi!"

_Yeah…things were going to work out just fine._


End file.
